A Walk in the Park
by Sparkiebunny
Summary: A difficult case leaves Tony unusually dejected. When Gibbs notices, can he pull Tony out of his rut?
1. Chapter 1

**AN: It feels like it's been forever since I've posted a new story! Truth be told, I was second-guessing my writing, and was hesitant to post this story, as I don't feel super-confidant with how it turned out. **

**But now I've decided to just post the story. If people like it, wonderful. If not, oh well, I did my best! Haha. so I can only hope that you, my dear readers, don't hate this too much, and please bear with me, as the first half of the chapter is a bit slow. But it recounts the case, which is integral to the theme of the fic. Thanks for taking the time to read, everyone! **

**In case you were wondering, this will likely be a two shot.**

* * *

The case hadn't been easy. It hadn't been quick. It hadn't been simple. But what case is?

The most difficult part of the case, as was with every case of its kind, was that the victim was a child. Though the MCRT was prepared for any crime, and trained to investigate the most gruesome of scenes, nothing could quite dispel the pang of sadness when faced with a life cut too short.

The victim, Jeremiah Cole, was 16. Son of Henry Cole, active politician, and the late Debra Cole, a marine killed in the line of duty.

Eight months prior to the case, Lance Corporal Debra Cole's squad was bombed on the outskirts of a small town. The group had been heading back to base when the attack struck, catching them completely unawares. They were all killed instantly.

Henry Cole, trained by his profession to be calm and collected in the face of every situation, gave a brief speech a few days after his wife's death, expressing his sadness and deep sense of loss. He spoke of the times he and his wife shared—of their engagement, their wedding, their honeymoon, and when they welcomed their son into the world. His eyes went misty as he described their last night together, and how Debra had told him that she loved him, and to take care of Jeremiah—or Jerry, as she called him. Their love was sealed with a passionate kiss and soft whispered words. The kind of sweet nothings which bond a relationship with their intimacy. A family hug followed, the three bodies morphing into one as they embraced. And with a smile and a wave, Debra was off, making her family and her country proud.

Then, Henry promptly concluded the speech with a promise to run for office as intended, despite the difficult circumstances.

Some admired Henry's decision, praising him for his show of courage and determination during such a dark time in his life. Others criticized, believing the choice to be callous and insensitive, not taking the proper time to grieve. But, honestly, who can measure grief? Who can specify the proper time to 'get over' such a tragedy? Who's the say when someone's moved on too soon? These unspoken questions plagued the nation, and the issue was dropped.

And all the while, no one interviewed the 16 year old boy standing behind his father. No one asked him how he felt about his mother's death, his father's campaign, or anything or that matter. So he faded, as did the media as the months wore on.

Until now.

About six and a half months after the media fire died down, it was reported that Jeremiah Cole was missing. Henry kept the case quiet. With his connections, it wasn't terribly difficult. "Just a simple case of a moody teenager blowing off steam," as he said to one police officer a few days after reporting the disappearance.

"When was the last time you saw your son, Mr. Cole?" They asked.

He shrugged and replied, with weariness etched in his eyes, "About…a week ago."

In a series of interviews with Henry, it was revealed that he and his son had gotten into a blow-up argument the night before Jeremiah left.

"Things were said that shouldn't have been, thoughts expressed, words thrown around. Just like any fight with a teenager. I thought he would take off and be back in the middle of the night…but he didn't come back. I had to leave for an overnight campaign meeting the next day, so I left a message on his cell and told the neighbors to watch out for him, and to have him call me when they saw him. The meeting turned into a 3-day affair, so by the time I got back, it had been 4 days since I'd seen Jeremiah. I thought it'd be best to give him more time, but as soon as it passed the weeklong mark, I contacted the authorities."

Because the case was so high-profile, and came from a military family, NCIS was involved in the investigation, despite the fact that no Marines were involved in the crime—if it was a crime at all. They searched high and low for Jeremiah for almost a month, when news came in the worst form possible.

The local PD got a call early in the morning. It was a Sunday. The call came from a homeless man named Jay Signer. He'd been making his weekly rounds around the abandoned bridge a few blocks away, when he spotted something—someone—huddled between the bank and the end of the bridge.

"I thought it was real strange, see, 'cause ain't no one lingerin' 'round there. Tha's off limits to all us. Thought it was strange," he told police.

When asked why the area was 'off limits', Signer went on to describe a sort of dictatorship, in which one man (nicknamed "The King") controlled the 20 mile strip, including the bridge. It was rumored that in order to stay there, even just for a night, one had to pay the King up front. Or else.

Curled up beneath the cover of the bridge, frozen in position, was the thin, frail frame of Jeremiah Cole, already stiff as a board, having been dead for days. His dusty brown hair was straggled and unkempt, hanging low over his closed eyelids. His clothes were torn and filthy, pulled tightly around him as a thin shield against the elements.

As soon as death was declared, Gibbs's team was put on the case and the investigation began. Upon initial examination of the body, Ducky said it was more-than-likely death due to exposure, and perhaps malnutrition. An autopsy would reveal all.

In the meantime, Gibbs and the team interrogated the homeless man, Jay Signer, to help them find the King. Signer was scared, and easily cracked. They had a name and address within the hour.

Speeding to the apartment complex in typical Gibbs fashion, they found the King. But, unsurprisingly, he ran. So they did what they always do, and they chased.

Tony was the first to catch up with the man, taking him down with a swift tackle, reminiscent of his college days. But he wasn't banking on the guy falling right next to a pipe. And he _definitely_ wasn't ready for the blinding blow to the abdomen that the chunk of lead delivered.

The King was swift in his movements, striking Tony twice more in the chest before being taken down by Gibbs. He fell like a sack of potatoes. Yeah, a bullet to the kneecap will do that to a guy.

In typical DiNozzo fashion, Tony brushed himself off and grinned, ignoring the searing pain in his chest. And in typical Gibbs fashion, he forced Tony to see Ducky. No breaks, just some deep-as-hell bruising.

So they went on with the case.

Despite his insistence that he'd never seen Jeremiah, they brought the King in for questioning. After less than an hour, the guy had admitted to scamming Jeremiah and many other homeless people out of their money. But that just made him a scumbag, nothing more, nothing less.

By this point, Ducky had declared the death non-homicidal. So the King was released, pending further investigation on the scheme he was running.

"It's really quite dreadful," Ducky said. "The poor boy's been dead at least 4 days. Mixture of dehydration, malnutrition, exhaustion, and exposure, I'm afraid. Must've been a terribly unpleasant end."

They all shook their heads sadly, swearing under their breath, cursing the one fiend that they couldn't bring to justice—Fate.

And so the case ended, having never been a true case to begin with.

The next step was usually the hardest. They had to inform the family of their findings. In this case, the only person they had to talk to was the father, Henry Cole. It was unfortunately their job to tell the man that his son had suffered a senseless death, with no one to blame and nothing to avenge.

Gibbs sat him down and the team looked on as the news was told.

No tears were shed as Henry Cole listened to Gibbs. No sobs were heard, no revelations reached, no breakdowns occurred at all. When Gibbs was finished speaking, Henry simply nodded and shook Gibbs's hand.

"Thank you for the work you and your team put in. I appreciate the effort, and will be sure to credit you when I address the public."

And then he stood and walked away, ending the anti-climactic moment and calmly departing.

The baffled team shrugged it off as shock, expecting the backlash to come later for the poor man. How wrong they were.

That night, they turned on the TV in the bullpen to watch Cole's address to the public. Their faces slackened with each passing moment as the man's words wafted through the speakers and through the small area.

"_I deeply appreciate the prayers and well-wishes from all my supporters, and also the hard work by the NCIS Agents who investigated my son's death. Jeremiah was a wonderful child, and will be sorely missed by all who knew him. I take comfort in the fact that he is now with his mother, in a place where I can only hope to join them one day. Jeremiah was intelligent, passionate, and a truly good person, whom we can only aspire to be like. _

"_And I wish to assure everyone that, despite these difficult circumstances, I _will _be finishing my campaign and running in this year's election. I believe it's what my wife and son would want, and hope you'll continue to support me throughout this election. Remember, 'At the Poll, Vote For Cole'! Thank you everyone. God Bless."_

The bullpen was silent as the team watched Cole step away from the podium and wave to the crowd of people. McGee numbly turned off the TV, mumbling disbelievingly.

"How could he…It was as if he wasn't even talking about his own son! Like nothing even happened…How…"

Ziva was shell-shocked as well, fueled by rage. "If I was anywhere near that disgusting pig right now, they would have to scrape him off of the pavement."

As the team ranted and cursed Cole, Tony sighed and stood wearily. "I'm gonna hit the head," he said quietly. The team hardly acknowledged he'd spoken, and continued their angry discussion. So Tony left and returned within a few minutes, no one even realizing he'd gone. When he returned to the bullpen, the conversation had died down, and everyone was at their desks.

An hour or so later, Gibbs told them all to go home and get some rest. To take tomorrow off. But they all knew he just wanted them to rid their minds of the saddening case.

McGee had plans to go out with a girl. Carrie, her name was. She was average height, with long, light brown hair and baby blue eyes. McGee liked her a lot. After a few dates, they'd realized how much they had in common, and now went out nearly every night. This night was no different. They would go to the movies, out to dinner, and by the end of the evening, the case would be forgotten to the Probie.

Shaking off thoughts of her younger sister, forever frozen in time, Ziva's mind wandered to thoughts of her guns, and how desperately they needed cleaning. She would settle in, pour a glass of wine, put on some classic music, and use her supplies to make her weapons spotless. She would cleanse every inch of her armory, and with it, her tainted psyche.

McGee and Ziva stood and walked to the elevator. They stepped through the doors together, beginning a casual conversation to shake off the dark mood. For them, shaking off the lingering distaste of the case wouldn't take a herculean effort.

Tony wished it could be that easy for him.

**. . .**

Barely registering the departing of his friends, Tony remained seated, bent over his desk in concentration.

"You deaf, DiNozzo?" Gibbs said sharply, glare dulled by weariness. The skittish flicking of Tony's hazel eyes didn't escape Gibbs's notice. Nor did the faint tremble in the fingers. He knew the case hit Tony harder than the rest. He just didn't know why. But he'd find out.

"Sorry, Boss just finishing up some paperwork." Tony's voice was ragged, with a note of sadness etched into the tone. Gibbs wanted it to go away, hating the lack of life in the words. No one should sound like that. Especially not this man.

"It can wait. Go home, DiNozzo."

And just like a loyal Golden Retriever, he does. As he always has. As he always will. With a heavy sigh that engulfed the bullpen in unexplainable sorrow, Tony picked up his pack and stood from his chair. Under Gibbs's scrutiny, Tony couldn't suppress the wince as a sharp needle shot up his ribs. But his face remained stony. No excuse or sarcastic comment accompanied the flash of pain. And that scared Gibbs. It was as if Tony didn't even care. His usual façade of deception and distraction kept attention off his injuries. But the façade was gone.

His back-up defenses were still in place, though. Thin, but firm walls over his hazel eyes kept outsiders ignorant of the storm raging inside, every crashing wave and destructive wind. But little did anybody know, it was no longer a storm. It was an oil spill. The poison of the past and present was seeping in, polluting Tony's ocean. Killing it.

But no one knew that. Even Gibbs. The all-knowing, omnipresent, hard-ass-with-a-soft-side boss, just stood there, watching Tony's back disappear behind the closing elevator doors. And for the life of him, he can't remember when this happened. When exactly had he become so oblivious to his agent's inner thoughts? DiNozzo had always kept a tight lid on his thoughts and feelings. Everyone knew that. Emotions were, in his eyes, a liability. Better to create a persona and live by it. Wipe away the Anthony, paint on the Tony. Destroy the Junior, project the DiNozzo. No matter how much hate was carried with that name…

But Gibbs had a knack for seeing through the smoke and mirrors. Through the years, he'd cleared the air and smashed the glass, leaving behind the pieces of Tony DiNozzo, revealing the Anthony. Exposing the Junior. And it wasn't a sight even Gibbs had been prepared for. But he never let on. He never drew attention to the darkness in the depths of the hazel. He never mentioned the wistful gazes when Tony thought he was unobserved. He simply watched. And learned.

But now, when the persona was withering and the mask cracking, Gibbs couldn't seem to pinpoint exactly when he'd stopped looking. Exactly when he'd stopped _seeing_. DiNozzo could never be considered an open book, but Gibbs prided himself in his ability to at least sneak a peek at the font. Not anymore. He knew something was bothering Tony throughout the case, but the recoil that was facing the man now…for once, Leroy Jethro Gibbs was at a loss.

In his experience, however, not all that was lost was gone forever. It could be recovered. Perhaps not in the same way as it had been. But something was always better than nothing. He'd lost his family to a terrible man, only to create a new family with the people who'd gained his respect, trust, and—if he was being totally honest with himself—love. The family was an unconventional one, but the components were there, and their presence had gotten Gibbs through more hard times than he could ever imagine.

But it seemed he didn't know his family as well as he thought he did.

With a frustrated sigh, Gibbs grabbed his stuff off his desk and pushed the elevator button. He'd find out what had his agent in such a state. And if possible, he would fix it. Because as team leader, Gibbs needed support his team. And as Tony's family, Gibbs needed to be there to catch him if—or more likely, _when_—he fell.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Here's part two! It took a bit longer than expected (with school starting), but I finally got it done! If you've forgotten about this story, hakuna matada! Don't feel guilty about having to re-read the first chap. Goodness knows I did! **

**Thank you for the show of support through alerts, favorites, and reviews! It fueled this story and boosted my confidence tenfold. **

**Shout-out to my reviewers:**

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**Hope you all enjoy the final chapter!**

* * *

Gibbs used his usual speed and stealth to follow Tony out of the building without him noticing. Then, he climbed into his car and tailed the man a few car lengths behind, curious when Tony surpassed the turn that led to his apartment block.

"Where the hell are you going to, DiNozzo?" Gibbs whispered to himself. The empty car had no reply.

**. . .**

Gibbs waited a minute or so before pulling onto the side street where Tony had parked. As soon as the engine shut off, he swiftly pulled out the keys and exited the car, closing the door as quietly as possible.

He followed Tony's slightly hunched form across the street and through the entrance of a small park. The area was 20 minutes or so from Tony's home, having a humbly quaint feel to it. A line of bushes bordered one side of the park, while the opposite side faced the river. A simple pathway led through the open area, and at this time of day, a few joggers were making their way through the park. Between the pavement path and the riverbank a few hundred feet away, two benches sat back-to-back; one facing the river, one facing the bushes. Both were currently unoccupied.

Gibbs wove his way through the bushes before settling into a small patch of dead grass with a great view of the rest of the park. And with the overhanging tree branches, he was confident that it'd take a keen eye to spot him.

He narrowed his eyes as Tony made his way slowly to the benches. He was a bit surprised when Tony sat heavily down on the one nearest him, the one with its back facing the flowing river. In fact, Tony didn't seem aware at all of his surroundings. He sat stiffly with a protective arm around his ribs, and an expression of deep thought on his face.

_Should've had Ducky wrap his ribs_, Gibbs thought as he saw the pallor of Tony's complexion.

It shocked Gibbs to see Tony so vulnerable, both physically and emotionally. The limp arm cradling his ribcage was a rare display of physical pain which Tony usually avoided at all costs. But here he was, open to the world, using only the involuntary restraint that had been conditioned into him since boyhood.

Judging by the faraway, desolatelook on his face, it was apparent that Tony thought he was sitting unobserved. So Gibbs watched, and with each passing moment, Tony looked more and more like a lost child.

Tony ran his free hand through his hair, and suddenly froze. Gibbs did as well, holding his breath. But the moment passed and Tony shifted on the bench, wincing slightly as he did so. Then, he sighed deeply, wincing again, and pulled his phone out of his pocket, dialing nonchalantly.

Leaning slightly forward, Gibbs squinted, trying to decipher the numbers, but knowing it would be impossible to tell from his distance. Concentrating deeply, he quieted his thoughts so he could hear at least one side of the conversation. Tony put the phone to his ear and Gibbs held his breath.

And then, without warning, Gibbs's attentive eavesdropping was interrupted by the shrill ring of his own phone. He jumped slightly and snatched it from his pocket. He shook his head, grinning at the caller ID. _DiNozzo_.

As he flipped the phone open, Tony look right at him and grinned. Before Gibbs spoke, Tony's voice came wafting through the speaker.

_"Practicing your stalking skills, Boss? I gotta say, discretion is something you might wanna work on."_

Gibbs rolled his eyes and snapped the phone shut, making his way to Tony. Within seconds, he was standing before the man.

Gone was the wistful, far-off look. Now the eyes sparkled with vitality. From where this life came from, Gibbs had no idea. The spark was so convincing, the Boss himself was second-guessing what he'd seen only minutes ago.

Though the stiffness of the shoulders remained, the protective arm around his obviously aching ribs was quickly drawn away, left to awkwardly grip the arm of the bench. Tony's movements were smooth in covering up the throb of his chest, but under Gibbs's scrutiny, the tight, short breaths were noted.

"So did you follow me here or is this a total coincidence? Something tells me you didn't choose this day to break Rule 39, but I could be wrong," Tony said, smirking.

Gibbs just shrugged. "In the neighborhood. Is there a reason you're taking a stroll through the local park instead of sitting in your apartment, icing your ribs?" He questioned bluntly.

Tony's smile faltered. With a small laugh, he said, "Well, thanks for the concern, Boss, but it gets pretty lonely around there. As timeless as Magnum marathons are, sometimes I'd rather be among the _non_-fictional characters of the human race." The tone was sarcastic, but something in the self-consciousness of the voice made Gibbs think that the statement wasn't far from the truth.

A flash of detachment took Tony away for a split second before he continued, "I like it here. It's quiet. Helps me think." He looked down at his hands, clearing his throat, suddenly very aware of how pansy-ish that had sounded.

Gibbs noticed the discomfort. "What's bothering you, DiNozzo?"

Tony gave another hollow laugh before replying, "Nothing, Boss. Just been a long day, I guess."

"You guess? DiNozzo, I just watched you-"

"-stalked me," Tony interjected. A sharp glare from Gibbs shut him up.

"-watched you sit on a park bench for twenty minutes, practically semi-_comatose_. I don't think you'd have snapped out of it if Tom Selleck his damn self had walked by. Unless you were mediating, I'm pretty sure that's a sign that something's eating at you."

Tony raised his eyebrows. "And if I was?"

"Was what?"

With an eye roll, Tony replied exaggeratedly, "Meditating! What if I was practicing my Transcendental Relaxation Techniques? They're quite good for-"

"That dumbass charm never worked on me before. What makes you think it would now?" Gibbs interrupted with a hint of frustration. "Talk. What's got you so off?"

Tony shifted uncomfortably, but replied hotly. "I'm_ fine_, Boss. Just a little tired and sore. Didn't realize that was a crime."

Sighing, Gibbs looked at the weary face before him. "You can't hide forever, DiNozzo," he said simply.

There was a short pause before Tony gave a weak smile. The kind of smile that lifted his features only slightly, showing an almost sarcastic show of happiness. There was an irony in the way that Tony managed to smile, yet look utterly unhappy at the same time. And Gibbs was completely taken aback by the fact that he'd never noticed it before.

With the joke of a smile still shadowing his face in mock happiness, Tony raised his eyes to Gibbs's face. And spoke two simple words.

"Can't I?"

The impact of the statement dissolved any frustration Gibbs was feeling. And looking at his agent now, finally _seeing_ him...Gibbs realized how badly he'd screwed up.

"Tony..." Gibbs began, unsure of what exactly he could say to make things right. To understand his agent, and to get Tony to let him in.

Tony cut the uncomfortable silence and said casually, "I should head home. It'll be dark in a few hours, and I definitely do _not_ want to be caught on a park bench in the middle of the night. That's just asking for trouble…"

"You've got time," Gibbs said, his tone leaving no room for argument. His voice softened as he looked at Tony's uncomfortable posture and constantly flicking eyes. "What's wrong, Tony?"

Tony sighed with a mixture of sadness and frustration. His foot tapped up and down lightly, creating a staccato rhythm that matched his inconsistent gaze. After a few moments, his tapping slowed and his eyes locked with Gibbs's.

When he finally spoke, his words sound strained, as if the effort of speaking them was causing serious distress. "Boss…I honestly don't know. I just feel off. I wish I knew why, but I don't."

From what Gibbs could tell, Tony was being honest. The words were genuine, as if Tony was unsure of his own emotions.

Desperate to make Gibbs believe him, Tony continued. "I'd tell you if I understood it, Boss. You know that. This whole case just has me turned upside down. With this freaking inconsistency, I'm ready to get my freaking period or something!" Tony laughed nervously before brushing off the confession. "But it'll pass. No worries." Another false grin lit up his face.

Gibbs didn't respond right away, instead choosing to scrutinize his agent even further. No doubt, Tony honestly didn't know why he was reacting so adversely to the case. But Gibbs had an idea. And he also had a theory as to why Tony couldn't see what was laid out fairly obviously before him.

Taking a risk, Gibbs voiced his thoughts, unsure of how Tony would respond. "Maybe you don't know what's wrong because you don't want to know. Ever think of that, DiNozzo?"

Tony's brow furrowed as he looked at his boss. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Gibbs took a deep breath. "It means that…maybe you're not facing what's bothering you, because maybe it'd mean you'd have to face yourself."

"That makes no sense whatsoever," Tony said sharply. His gaze returned to his hands, now in his lap. He massaged and rubbed them together, as a nervous child sitting in the dentist's office would do.

After a few moments of tense silence, Tony said quietly, voice a rough whisper, "The kid didn't deserve that, Boss."

"No," Gibbs agreed. "He didn't." Then he added somewhat hesitantly, "Neither did you."

"What?" Tony's eyes shot to Gibbs's face, and for once, emotion poured from them. The thin walls over the cloudy hazel were visibly crumbling, and Gibbs counted himself lucky. Because in that moment, he knew that the sight his eyes beheld was not one often witnessed—if ever. He wasn't seeing the Tony people saw every day. He was seeing the Anthony. He was seeing the Junior. Part of him wondered if anyone else had gotten as far as he was this very moment.

Hazel still clinging desperately to his own blue eyes, Gibbs continued. "I'm not an idiot DiNozzo. I may not have gone to MIT, but I can put two and two together. Dead mother, bastard father…makes for a lonely kid. Makes for a rough childhood. No kid deserves that."

"Boss, I don't-"

"Don't even try, DiNozzo. It's me," Gibbs interjected. Tony's eyes lowered to hands once more. "The kid reminds you of…you."

Tony sighed deeply, expelling millions of emotions in a single puff of air. With that single exhale, years of neglect, hardship, sadness, and loss poured out, allowing Gibbs to see just a fraction of what was inside the man he calls Anthony DiNozzo. That one sigh told so much, yet at the same time kept so much still hidden within.

"Guess I didn't really think about it," Tony said weakly.

Gibbs shrugged. "Maybe not consciously."

"So what, now you're Dr. Phil?"

"Nah, still got hair," Gibbs replied, smirking.

Tony laughed for a few moments before falling silent once more. Then, quietly, he said, "But what difference does it make? I'm not a kid anymore, Boss."

"Tony, you're the biggest kid I know."

Gibbs regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. By the time the sentence was finished, Tony's eyes had clouded over, walls rebuilt in seconds. But not fast enough to hide the deep flash of hurt residing within. The disappointment was palpable, and Gibbs cursed his lack of communication skills.

"Dammit, that's not what I meant, Tony. I just mean, we're all kids, you know? As much as we try to ignore it, our childhood becomes a part of us, and we carry it around for the rest of our lives. As much as we want to sometimes, we can never shed that kid inside of us…"

And that's when Gibbs got it. That's when he really _got _it. Up until this moment, Gibbs had thought he understood his agent. Not as the goofy, juvenile, grinning playboy, but as the hardened, brooding man beneath. He prided himself in knowing this part of Tony. Everyone else saw the jokes, the smiles, the screw-ups. But he…he was different. He saw more. He saw the underlying anger. The sadness. Tony's desire for more than the life he had.

But now, he realized there was a whole part of Tony even _he_ didn't know. The part he'd overlooked. He'd seen the playboy. He'd seen the troubled man. But he'd overlooked the one part of Tony that _no one_ saw. And like a shot to the heart, Gibbs realized it was this part of Tony that had always been overlooked.

The neglected child.

Because, as Gibbs himself had said, everyone carries their childhood around with them wherever they go, for the rest of their lives. That inner child…it stays with you no matter what. As much as you wish otherwise, you can never shake this kid. Each and every single childhood event accumulates into a being, a presence…and you're stuck with that being, that presence, that _kid_ forever. No do-overs. No not pass go. Do not collect $200.

And Tony had to live with this affliction every day. This sad, lost, lonely little boy inside…Tony carried him around 24/7. And nobody noticed. Ever. As it had always been. Part of Tony was desperate to keep it this way, hiding behind his mask, that mask of a clown that Gibbs himself had named…But another part of Tony, perhaps weaker than the first, was just as desperate to be revealed. To let people in.

But that part never wins. And with a sinking feeling, Gibbs realizes that it never will if nothing changes.

_Guess it's time for something to change, _Gibbs decided_._

As Gibbs pondered this, Tony was thinking as well. After a few moments of introverted thought, he grinned wearily, perhaps the first genuine—albeit weak—smile Gibbs had seen in a long time. "Well, I gotta say, Boss. Raising this inner kid of mine is—for lack of a better term—no walk in the park."

Gibbs smiled knowingly. "Nothing wrong with sharing the burden, Tony."

Still smiling, more to himself than anything, Tony nodded. "Yeah," he said, smile growing a tiny bit wider. "Guess you're right, Boss."

"I'm _always_ right, DiNozzo," Gibbs retorted. Tony raised an eyebrow. Gibbs glared. "Let's go. Some beer and an ice pack should help those ribs of yours."

Tony stood up from the bench. "My place or yours?"

"Up to you."

Tony grinned mischievously. "With those newfound stalking skills of yours, I think I'll just go and see if you can you follow me."

A swift slap to the back of the head made Tony laugh heartily. "Your place it is then."

And with that, the two made their way to their respective cars. Tony's mask was back in place, but this time, there was a slight disturbance in the smooth porcelain. A tiny crack allowed something inside to peak through. Almost undetectable, but most definitely there. Small progress.

But maybe, just maybe, the surface of the mask could be broken, one fracture at a time. And with each snap and splinter, the Anthony would come closer to the surface. With each scrape and split, the Junior would see some light. And the Tony could finally close the curtain and end the act.

Perhaps, one crack, one fracture, one hug, one thank you, one sleepover, one compliment, one Gibbs slap at a time…The mask could be destroyed forever. It wouldn't be easy. It wouldn't be quick. It wouldn't be simple. Long story short, it damn sure wouldn't be a walk in the park. But between the heartbreaks, the misunderstandings, the loneliness, the loss, and the struggle to move on from the past without denying it…what life is?


End file.
